Sam sat up suddenly. Wait a moment, had Chlorine said “art”? What the hell was so artistic about a lump of excrement? And what did art have to do with priests? “I hope they are not upset over losing it.” Sam probed.
“Oh, they will have one of their artisans create another. It is only the gathering of material that takes so much effort. You must understand how that is.”
“Yes,” Sam agreed, “so very expensive to collect.” What the hell was it? He was getting rather compulsive over the question; out of all proportion, which meant that, down deep, his subconscious must attach some importance to this piece of junk.
The day’s negotiations got off to a bad start when Offal insisted that the Mephitisites be frisked for weapons before entering the city. Things went downhill after that and, once again, the negotiations were stalled. Sam decided to ask Sslowa if it could suggest a way around the impasse. Perhaps it knew something that would help. For some reason the little Rix hadn’t shown up as usual.
When Sam found Sslovva it was sulking in one of the corridors. Clearly, the Rix was not at her—or was it his?—best. The tiny creature was limping along, as if held down by some great weight. “I take it that the courtship is not progressing well,” Sam prompted.
The Rix gave a desolate click. “It is terrible, Earth-Sam. I had hoped that Sslinno and I would reach some sort of resolution, but, alas, that was not to be.”
“You still do not know whether you are male or female, whether he or she is a she or a he?”
“Oh, you have such a perfect understanding, Earth-Sam. Would that I had your penetrating intellect. You are right, the issue between us remains unresolved, at least as far as my life is concerned. In other matters I am afraid that resolution is very prominent.” The Rix turned about and showed what had emerged from the rear of its thorax.
Sam gasped in surprise. A shaft nearly half the alien’s length protruded from the tip of its thorax. It appeared triangular in cross section, with rather sharp-looking, serrated edges. The wicked-looking appendage looked as if it could slice through steel. “What the hell is that?” he exclaimed in wonder. “Are you getting ready to fight or something?”
The Rix turned back to face Sam. “Fight? Would that it were that easy. No, this is what happens when the male in me is awakened. This is the instrument with which I will consummate this affair.”
“I guess that you’ve determined that the object of your affection really is a female. Well, looks like you and Sslinno are going to have a hell of a weekend.” Suddenly Sam had a new appreciation of what the Rix had meant by the affair being dangerous if one chose wrong. Of course, he added ruefully, that might be only marginally preferable to choosing right!
Click-clickedy-click; “You do not yet understand. I have assumed no such thing. Whether my precious Sslinno is male or female is not in question. Since my body has clearly chosen to assume the male role, I must take whatever fate deals me. The biological imperatives are too great to resist. Tonight, the issue between Sslinno and I will be resolved, one way or the other.”
Sam felt pity for the poor thing. “Don’t you have any other options?” he asked. “Must you risk your life just for… ah… a night of love?”
“It is so, Earth-Sam. I have no choice. Once the courtship reaches this last plateau there is no turning back. I have assumed the male role and must meet my lover as nature intended. For good or ill, I am committed.”
Sam recalled saying much the same thing on the eve of his first marriage, and it proved only slightly less disastrous than this might turn out to be. “Well,” he advised somberly, “in matters of the heart there’s always a time when the delights of romance overcome your natural aversion to danger. When that happens all you can do is go with the flow and let nature take its path.”
“Good advice, friend Earth-Sam. I thank you.”
“And I wish you luck, Sslovva,” Sam said sympathetically as the Rix went off, dragging his newly-grown equipment with him.
After all of the discussions and despite every remedy Sam could think of, the Mephitisites were unwilling to relinquish the rights to the lands ceded to them by the Scrofulosans’ ancestors.
“You accepted our original bid,” the Mephitisites argued, “Your people took what we offered. I recall how pleased your people were, at the time. Acted as if you had gotten the better edge of the deal.”
The Scrofulosan descendants, on the other hand, remained intransigent that the Mephitisites depart the planet.
“Our poor ancestors didn’t understand the value of the worthless things that you offered. You took advantage of their naïveté,” Offal accused with a sniff.
Sam could sympathize with that. For a while he had thought the cheap translator that Ahbbbb had given him was the most wonderful device in creation, that is until Sslowa set him straight.
Then he realized what the Mephitisite Speaker du jour had said. “Wait a minute,” he yelled as the machine huffed and wheezed to keep up with his rapid speech. “How could you remember their reaction if it was so many generations ago? How old are you anyway?”
“Why, forty of your years,” the sluggish alien replied with an abrupt blast of wind. “I was a first-level trader at that time, you understand—a huge child, not the gracefully edited adult you see before you.”
Sam turned to the Scrofulosan delegation. “You told me that this place had been held by you for generations! You said that it was your great-etcetera-grandaunts who laid down the first scent trails to the God Hole. You said that this was your ancestral home. Now it appears that you only settled this place a few years ago!”
Offal responded quickly. “I do not understand why you are so upset. You seem to have a firm grasp of the facts.”
How could he have a firm grasp of the facts in the face of the absurd statements they had just made? “But, but…,” he began, when an idea suddenly occurred to him. “How old are you?” he demanded, pointing at Offal.
“Nearly two of your years!” Offal replied proudly in a little puff of pepper, “and still as spry as ever! However, I will retire as soon as this sordid business is straightened out. Then I will be free to spend my final days in peaceful communion with the wondrous effluent of our God.”
Sam sat abruptly. He’d assumed that the Scrofulosans had held this place nearly forever. He had thought that the Mephitisites were the intruders. Now, it looked like they had made their agreement when the planet was largely undeveloped and space not a problem. Now it looked as if it were the Scrofulosans who were the greedy ones, wanting the entire planet for themselves. How was he going to find some common ground?
Sam decided to take a few days off and see the sights. Perhaps he could get an idea of how to proceed from the current impasse if he learned more about the planet. Chlorine was all too pleased to show him the wonders of the city: the mildew farms, the lovely fungus caverns, the breathtaking (literally) city library, and the great, awesome, slime pits. But the sticklike alien saved the best of the natural wonders for last.
Sam realized that he should have visited the God Hole when he first arrived. After all, it was the center of the devout Scrofulosans’ religion—their holy of holies, in a manner of speaking. The God Hole turned out to be a volcanic fumarole that, regular as clockwork, belched forth a gross mixture of hydrogen, sulfur, nitrogen, and ammonia, interspersed with fragments of whatever strange minerals had been created in this planet’s mantle. The Hole was the source of the frequent roaring sounds that cued every Scrofulosan to prostrate themselves. It was their equivalent of Mount Fuji, the Holy See, and Buddha’s Tree.